


Summer Chill

by scratchienails



Series: No Chance of Precipitation [4]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, I don't know, M/M, or rather, two enemies go on a date and its all very emotionally complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchienails/pseuds/scratchienails
Summary: It’s more of a prolonged argument than a date, or so Yusaku thinks.(This is a stand-alone, the rest of the Precipitation series not required)





	Summer Chill

**Author's Note:**

> This took way longer than it should have because :)) when I was most of the way through it :))) my computer crashed and deleted it all :))) so I had to rewrite it from scratch :))))))) hahahahaha that's a pun get it *scratch* haha KILL ME
> 
> Anyways, this is for the anons on tumblr that wanted a Ferris wheel date! (+interruptions by the rest of the cast)

Sunday mornings in Den City are quiet without the bustle of commuters to work and students to school. Yusaku appreciates these mornings the most, when the crowds that usually make meeting up with Kusanagi so daunting evaporate, and he can walk to the main plaza in peace.

The wind is crisp on his face as he waits at the crosswalk for the meagre amount of traffic to pass. But when the signal changes and he steps forward, an arm blocks his path. A graceful hand leads into a toned arm clothed in a familiar blazer, and Yusaku peeks curiously to his side.

“Revolver.”

“Playmaker.” Ryoken is an unexpected, but not unwelcome, sight. Yusaku hasn’t quite gotten used to seeing him, to _knowing_ him, after ten years of fearing those things were impossible; even now, the knowledge that they can now meet so simply sends a little bit of awe trembling through him. “Come with me.” Ryoken’s words always come out as commands, a symptom of having too much authority from too young an age, but there’s something particularly demanding about him today.

Not that Yusaku has any intentions of refusing. If Ryoken wants to talk, Yusaku will always hear him out. Whether he speaks harshly or kindly, whether his intentions towards Yusaku are bad or good—all of Ryoken’s words are important to him.

But today, Ryoken doesn’t cut straight to the point, not like he usually does. Instead he leads Yusaku along the city streets, gradually striding east towards the nicer side of town.

“The Ignis is not with you?” Ryoken asks, glancing at Yusaku’s bare wrist.

“He’s housesitting.” It is probably not something he should admit so easily; there’s no telling what Hanoi would do with the knowledge that Yusaku has a habit of leaving Ai alone in his apartment, undefended. And yet, at this point, it's rather unlikely that Ryoken doesn’t already have the means to steal Ai.

Ryoken’s eyes glare coldly into his own. “You know you can’t trust that thing.”

Trust. Coming from Ryoken, that’s almost laughable. Turning his gaze back to the street, Yusaku doesn’t point out the fundamental hypocrisy in Ryoken’s words. It’s easier to say nothing than try to put the complexity of his and Ai’s relationship into words someone as insular as Ryoken could stand to hear.

Ryoken continues, filling the gaps Yusaku leaves open. “You don’t seriously think that thing cares about you.”

Ai had cried over Earth for hours. Ai had stood up to Lightning and risked his own life for Yusaku’s sake. Ai had been based on _him._

Ryoken had saved him from Lightning. Ryoken had brought him a program to protect him from any future attacks. Ryoken was worried Ai was going to betray him.

 _I think you both do, in your own ways._ Yusaku holds his tongue again. He gets the feeling if he says that aloud, Ryoken will feel like he has to prove him wrong, to teach him a lesson about his own naivety. It's better to just stay quiet.

They arrive at a western restaurant uptown, where the roads are clean and manicured and people don’t like to see food trucks. Yusaku doesn’t come to this part of Den City often, and the area is unfamiliar; the last time he was near here, he was breaking into Vyra’s apartment. Ryoken holds the door open and guides him inside, where a perky hostess in starkly-ironed clothes is smiling behind a podium. Wealthy couples and families are scattered throughout the first-floor, and even more seem to be upstairs, all gathered around gorgeously set tables with flower arrangements and polished cutlery. Yusaku feels out of place, dressed only in the t-shirt he took from his middle school’s lost-and-found bin two years ago and the jeans he’s had for even longer.

He doesn’t need to look at the menu to know that a single meal here would cost him his weekly grocery budget.

The hostess meets his eye and smiles wider. “Welcome! Do you have a reservation?” Yusaku just stares blankly at her as Ryoken steps in behind him. Her smile falters awkwardly and she quickly looks towards Ryoken instead.

“The reservation for Kogami,” Ryoken says simply. Because apparently they’re eating here. Or Ryoken is. Yusaku wants to open his mouth and admit he left his wallet at home, but the hostess is already leading them to a table for two upstairs, by the polished windows and the European Renaissance art. 

Ryoken pulls out a chair and looks at Yusaku expectantly. Yusaku is not sure what that means, so he takes the other chair, trying not to let it scrape the rosy wood floor. Ryoken looks chagrined by this, for some reason.

Is this some kind of power-play? A display of dominance? Yusaku doesn’t know, but the hostess looks like she’s holding back laughter as she hands them the menus.

Yusaku finds the cheapest, simplest option, and wonders if it’s taboo to order a soft drink for breakfast. Mildly aggravated that the answer is likely _yes_ , he peeks outside as Ryoken opens his own menu, and finds that the restaurant overlooks the neighborhood, with its flower-lined streets and slope-roofed townhouses. There are kids running around and couples walking hand-in-hand, perusing boutiques and galleries as they wander, and something about the sight of it is incredibly alienating.

“It’s a nice view.” Ryoken says, and Yusaku turns back to find crystal eyes watching him over the vase of begonias and zephyr lilies. The sun is catching in Ryoken’s incandescent hair, curling in a halo around his sharp features. Yusaku’s mouth is dry as he forces his gaze back onto the street outside. Everywhere he looks, something throws him off, for drastically different reasons. Ryoken, however, is still talking. “This restaurant is one of the few in the city that relies on all human staff instead of cleaning and server robots.”

Yusaku could tell just by looking at the menu prices. Human labor didn’t come cheap.

“You seem familiar with this place.” Not only that, the the elegant, decadent atmosphere suits the ease with which Ryoken wields his noble posture. Yusaku already knows the silverware will fit perfectly in his hands, while Yusaku can barely guess what the different spoons and forks placed before them are even for.

Ryoken opens his mouth, half a sound forming in the back of his throat, before he cuts it off. Then he starts over. “I’ve been here often.”

With his father and the rest, Yusaku suspects. He wonders if Ryoken has been coming here since he was a child. While Yusaku was left half-starved and tortured in that lonely cell, had Kogami taken mornings off to bring his son and assistants out for brunch?

A familiar fire burns in the back of his throat, and he can feel Ryoken’s eyes on his face, probing.

That’s when the waitress arrives to take their orders—or rather, take Ryoken’s orders. When Yusaku opens his mouth, Ryoken throws him a sharp glance that has his teeth clicking shut.

Ryoken orders for himself, and then points to Yusaku and lists off more food than Yusaku eats in a day, let alone a single meal. He looks terribly satisfied with himself as the waitress collects their menus and hurries off.

Yusaku deliberates the smug look on his face and says, completely shamelessly, “You’re paying.”

“Obviously.” Ryoken agrees.

Alright, Yusaku thinks as he finally relaxes. Who is he to complain if Ryoken wants to bribe him into listening to his anti-Ignis rhetoric with fancy food? It certainly beats Ryoken lurking around the hotdog truck or deliberately making Ai cry. It’s practically pleasant in comparison.

Yusaku settles in for the long-haul.

Ryoken also relaxes slightly, leaning back with one arm settled along the top of the booth. He nods towards the wait-staff bustling around the restaurant. “I simply think mobile appliances are a poor substitute for the capabilities of a human.”

“I prefer to deal with robots.” Yusaku says, tone bland. For a long time, Roboppy had been the closest thing he had to company, and he had liked it that way. Robots were easy; they followed specific programming and didn’t have any sort of complicated emotions to consider. And he could hack them.

Ryoken hums. “Is that why you keep that old vacuum?”

Reducing a once advanced housekeeping robot like Roboppy to a _vacuum_ is harsh, even if her predecessors had been glorified Roombas. Yusaku feels the inexplicable urge to defend her. “The hardware is old, but the programming is more advanced than the new models on the market.”

Yusaku purposely leaves out that Ai is the one responsible for Roboppy’s revolutionary progression, but something about his wording must give him away. Ryoken looks interested, almost contemplative, for about half a second before his face turns cold again as he realizes. Then he almost seems personally insulted. “You let the Ignis _update_ it?” Well, Yusaku hadn’t tried to stop him, but Ai certainly hadn’t asked for permission. He just couldn’t think of any reason to undo all of Ai’s hardwork: Roboppy’s now more expressive and capable than before, and has even developed her own personality. “That doesn’t concern you? Or do you just fail to see how dangerous that is?”

It isn’t like Roboppy is capable of suffocating him in his sleep (and he’s certain she will never _want_ to), but the blatant concern buried in Ryoken’s scalding tone has Yusaku’s cheeks feeling warm.

“It’s made it a more effective babysitter for him.” Calling Roboppy a _her_ in front of Ryoken seems too embarrassing, even if it isn’t that different from gendering Ai.

Ryoken gives him a baleful look. Under the dubious tilt of his eyebrows, there’s an almost dejected look in his eyes. Yusaku supposes it can’t be easy to spend ten years trying to combat the AI threat, only to be told an emoji-empowered vacuum cleaner can do the job just as well.

That’s about when their food arrives, and it's Yusaku’s turn to feel dejected. The amount of breakfast placed in front of him is...daunting, to say the least. Yusaku will admit that he’s feeling slightly intimidated. If this is part of Ryoken’s weird idea of mind-games, it’s working.

He looks between Ryoken’s much more reasonable portion and his own and tries to convey his displeasure with just his eyes. Ryoken looks like it is very much not his problem as he points out: “You’re underweight.”

“Stay out of my medical records.”

“No.”

Well then.

The food is delicious, Yusaku admits to himself begrudgingly. And once his body registers the fact that he’s consuming something besides hot dogs, suddenly he’s ravenously hungry. He tries not to show it, but he can’t help but eat a little faster.

If Ryoken looked pleased with himself before, he looks positively triumphant now. It’s an expression Yusaku is more used to seeing on Revolver’s face than Ryoken’s, and he takes a moment to appreciate it between bites of food. When they met face-to-face for the the first time in ten years, Yusaku had thought Ryoken was stunningly gorgeous. But that Ryoken had been wracked with grief, exhaustion lingering under his eyes and in the defiant stiffness of his posture. The only time he grinned, it had been out of disdain, empty of everything but cold determination.

Now, Yusaku knows how Ryoken stands when he’s at his best, how he smiles when he feels like he has the world at his feet, how his eyes can burn with the light of supernova stars.

This Ryoken is much more beautiful.

But Kusanagi says staring is rude and Yusaku knows from experience that his too-green eyes often make people uneasy, so he looks away. Beyond their little table, normal people are living their normal lives. Normal couples are laughing and talking and happily brushing their hands together on crisp white tablecloths with the kind of careless, thoughtless intimacy he’s never known. It’s been a long time since Yusaku has been jealous of that kind of thing, but with Ryoken so close and still so far out of reach, he can’t help but feel bitter.

Wait.

Tucked in the back, half-hidden behind the partition leading into the employees-only area, is a table set for four but only housing three: a large man with dark hair, a stringy-limbed man in spectacles, and a teenager with grey hair.

All three have their faces buried in their menus, but as Yusaku watches, a blue eye peeks over the top of one and glances their direction. Yusaku doesn’t know what sort of face he’s making, but it makes Spectre jump before he gives up on hiding and lowers the menu, revealing an amiable smile.

Is it inappropriate to put up his middle finger in an upper-class restaurant? Probably. Is that the _least_ violent urge Yusaku has right now? Definitely.

He’s going to get arrested today, but it’s going to be worth it.

“Why are you holding your knife like that?” Ryoken asks, and only then does Yusaku realize he’s unconsciously flipped the knife in his hand around. Ryoken follows his enraged glare across the room, until his eyes land on the same trio.

“Ah.” Ryoken’s sigh sounds deeply aggravated. “They followed me here.” Obviously. It sounds like an excuse, but Ryoken wouldn’t lead him into a trap. Not that he would mind, anyway; any traps set before him are simply another opportunity to confront Hanoi. More importantly, if he takes a running start, he should be able to clear the table directly in between them and kick Dr. Genome right in his pretentious glasses. Guessing by his body type, one hit and he’d be down, and then Yusaku would just have to contend with Faust.

He can certainly take on Faust, especially with an entire table of knives and forks at his disposal.

“We’re leaving.” Ryoken says, and Yusaku can see him waving in the corner of his eye. He doesn’t look away from the Knights, who have now all raised their faces and are staring right back. “Check, please.”

Yusaku gets up, but a grip of steel seizes him by the wrist. Ryoken drags him to his side and keeps him there as he pays the waitress.

Foiled, Yusaku uses his other hand to pull out his phone instead and snaps a few quick pictures while Ryoken is busy signing the bill. If he has their faces, he can get their names. If he has their names, it will be easy to get them arrested, just like Vyra. Of course, Ryoken could probably just break them out of jail, but it would at least make the entire rest of their lives _very_ difficult.

Then, he’s being dragged downstairs towards the door. Ryoken’s hand is like a heated clamp around his wrist, uncompromising and unbending right up until they reach the door, which opens before them.

“Fujiki-kun?” Zaizen Aoi and her brother peak at him curiously from the doorway. Ryoken somehow stands even straighter, but his grip doesn’t even slacken. Both Zaizen’s eyes turn from him, to Ryoken, to their connected hands. Zaizen Akira’s expression is especially complicated, trapped between uncomfortable surprise and hazy recognition. His classmate opens her mouth, but awkwardly pauses there, confused. “...What’s up?”

That...is not an easy question to answer. Very recently, they formed a tentative alliance with Blue Angel—Girl? Maiden?—due to her sudden partnership with the Water Ignis. But he still has not revealed anything about himself to her, particularly his identity, the reluctant ceasefire with the Knights of Hanoi, or his connection to Revolver. If he ever will is still in question. But Yusaku is not so optimistic to think that in his research into Kogami, Zaizen Akira managed to overlook the man’s son. Even discounting his identity as Playmaker, any connection between Fujiki Yusaku and the mastermind of the Hanoi Project is a connection he absolutely doesn’t need reported to SOL Tech, or even just independently investigated.

In summary, on a later date, if everything is ever laid on the table and all secrets bared, explaining this might be hard. Because Yusaku will have to explain why he was out to breakfast with the enemy.

Accustomed to him not answering, Zaizen Aoi looks to the supposed stranger among them. “This is…?” She trails off in a questioning lilt.

Ryoken looks back, disdain lingering in his expression. “Koga—”

“My boyfriend.” Yusaku says quickly.

Everything goes quiet: Ryoken is side-eying him, Zaizen Aoi is flushing pink with embarrassment, and Akira’s face is somehow managing to twist even further. Yusaku adjusts and slips his hand into Ryoken’s, which is slack in his grip. “See you, Zaizen.” He says quickly as he nudges Ryoken forward, who stiffly takes the hint with a stiff expression. They make a quick retreat away from the baffled pair of siblings, and Yusaku realizes too late that they just left Spectre and Zaizen Aoi in the same building.

At the very least, the Knights probably won’t be able to keep following them. A fair distance away, he tries to release Ryoken’s hand, only to find Ryoken’s fingers locked around his own. He’s completely rigid now, and strangely agitated.

“Your boyfriend?” Ryoken’s deep voice reaches new lows as he hisses into the air between them. Yusaku winces as the grip turns painful, like the delicate bones of his hand are being crushed together.

“It would make things difficult for me if Zaizen Akira knows I know Kogami’s son.” He tries, ineffectively, to tug free. Ryoken jerks him back and around, until they’re face to face, their hands trapped between them.

“Does it not occur to you,” Ryoken’s eyes bore into his own, ice blue in the blazing sunlight. He can feel hot breath on his face with each word, can see every twitch and shift in each fierce expression, “that I am _trying_ to make things difficult for you?”

It would be only to Hanoi’s advantage if Yusaku’s allies think— _know_ he has fallen in with Revolver.

“Does it not occur to you that I won’t let you?” Yusaku parrots back, allowing a bit of an edge to enter his voice. They hold each other’s gaze for a long, tense moment.

“Fujiki?”

_Again?_

Two pairs of furious eyes turn to the intruder, blazing. Shima Naoki squeaks and wisely books it. Yusaku can already imagine the headache he is going to get for this in school tomorrow.

Why are they running into people he knows, when usually he almost never sees his classmates outside of school? Well, he supposes, this would be _their_ side of Den City, the side he never comes to. Most students of his school come from wealthy families, and even those that weren’t rich didn’t live downtown like he did.

Finally, Ryoken’s grip eases, just only enough so that it no longer feels bruising. He does not let go.

It’s strange, because he’s usually leaving by now. This might be the longest they’ve ever been in each other’s company, outside of their duels in VRAINS. They walk with seemingly no destination; at the very least, Yusaku is not sure where they’re going. Most of his attention is on the burn of Ryoken’s skin against his own. He’s never held hands with anyone before. If he ever did it as a child, he has no memory of it. It’s a strange sensation: a little too warm and a bit of a hindrance, but he doesn’t find himself wanting to pull away.

Among the couples Yusaku was watching earlier, they don’t stick out at all.

It’s unexpectedly pleasant, until they run into yet another familiar face.

“Yusaku?” Takeru is breathing hard, like he’s been running around for a while. “There you are!”

Oh. He forgot to text Kusanagi and tell him he’d been delayed; they must have been worried. Takeru’s concerned eyes drop to Yusaku’s hand, still clutched in Ryoken’s, and Yusaku can see the exact moment Takeru switches from curious to furious. The mild-mannered student he’s grown accustomed to melts away, leaving behind a fearsome scowl. “Is this guy harassing you?” Takeru enunciates each word very clearly, as if he deliberating with each one what he’s going to do if the answer is _yes._

“I’m his boyfriend.” Ryoken says plainly, and Yusaku learns what it’s like to choke on air. It’s his turn to side-eye Ryoken, who looks close to mean laughter. “We’re on a date.”

“ _What?_ ” Takeru almost screams.

Ryoken looks remarkably alike to Revolver at his most nefarious. The old Revolver, with the alien eyes and and the evil grin.

“He’s messing with you.” Yusaku steps forward to defuse the matter, but doesn’t get far with his arm still shackled. “He’s Revolver.”

Instead of calming down, Takeru only seems more aghast. “Wh—why are you holding hands with _Revolver?!”_

...Is it too late to change his answer?

“Like I said,” Ryoken grins, apparently physically incapable of _not_ escalating situations, “we’re on a date.” The hand holding his creeps up his arm and then winds around his shoulders. Ryoken’s cold eyes are staring Takeru right in the face, a mocking smile twisting his lips up.  Shifting uncomfortably, Yusaku resorts to his best ‘cease-and-desist’ glare, but when Ryoken’s eyes briefly drop to meet his, they clearly convey: _I said I was going to make things difficult for you, didn’t I?_

“Actually, yes.” Yusaku says flatly. “I _am_ being harassed.”

“Oh, good.” Takeru sounds relieved, cracking his knuckles. And then he lunges, because Takeru is action-orientated like that.

Twenty minutes of mad running, getting dragged around, and being shoved in a taxi later, they arrive at the fairgrounds a little worse for wear. It’s almost noon, and there are kids _everywhere_ , hurrying in between whirling rides and game huts full of colorful prizes.

“Soulburner,” Ryoken is still breathing hard, but is making a valiant effort to hide it, “is much more volatile than you.”

“You were the one antagonizing him.” Yusaku is still slightly dizzy from being thrown around in every direction. In his pocket, his phone is buzzing incessantly, with no sign of stopping. He takes a moment to get his bearings, recognizing the fair as the same one he visited when Takeru and he first met.

“I antagonize you all the time. You never try to maul me.” Fair enough. What would have happened if it was Takeru that showed up at Ryoken’s doorstep to stop the Tower of Hanoi? The result probably wouldn’t have been a card game. Ryoken checks over his shoulder, then pushes Yusaku towards the milling crowds. “Seems we finally lost him, at least. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Ferris Wheel.” Ryoken’s smiling maliciously again, heading straight for the the spinning wheel towering above the carnival games. Has he always been this petty? Yes, sadly, but Yusaku is used to that meaning Ryoken forcing a tie after realizing he couldn’t win. Not...whatever this is.

There’s almost no line; everyone else seems much more interested in the faster, wilder rides than the old-fashioned, 20th century relic they’re boarding. “How do you even know about that?” He asks, even though he knows better. Ryoken’s unimpressed expression informs him just how stupid of a question it is as he nudges Yusaku in first.

Ryoken settles next to him, not across. There’s still plenty of space between them, but it somehow feels like there is none at all. As the wheel lurches into motion, Yusaku can’t help but feel like the carriage is much smaller than when he was last here. His heart is beating too fast in his chest.

Not sure why he feels so warm, he tries to focus. “What did you want to talk about, anyway?” Ryoken looks at him, his expression unreadable. Yusaku looks back, unsure why Ryoken doesn’t seem to know what he’s asking. “You wanted to discuss something with me, right?”

Ryoken takes a deep breath in through his nose, obviously exasperated, but it’s so endearing Yusaku finds himself not minding. Like he didn’t mind the stilted conversation, or like he didn’t mind the hand-holding. Even now, their hands are just a few scarce centimeters apart, and Yusaku finds himself missing the itchy warmth.

“I’ve been making it abundantly clear.” Ryoken says slowly, as their fingers shift closer. “We’re on a date.”


End file.
